


Victory Station

by Rose Argent (roseargent)



Category: Cain Saga and Godchild
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Case Fic, Gen, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 11:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8889856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseargent/pseuds/Rose%20Argent
Summary: Investigating a familiar-sounding series of murders, Cain and Riff come to distant Victory Station, and find the situation is not quite what they expected.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [veleda_k](https://archiveofourown.org/users/veleda_k/gifts).



> When I read in your letter than you were open to AUs, particularly sf AUs, this idea immediately sprang to mind. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story!

The Biosecurity agents gave Cain a more thorough examination than could possibly be standard for anyone, much less for an Earl. 

He suspected that his title was, in fact, the only reason they stopped short of a cavity search; the fact that they found nothing of note seemed to disturb them rather than reassure them. While they hesitated, Cain smiled brightly. "Are we quite done here, officers? I do have an appointment with the Station Chief." 

Without a valid reason to detain him, Cain was grudgingly allowed out of the dock and into the station proper. Riff followed after with their carry-on bags. The rest of his things had no doubt been torn apart and searched with great thoroughness when they passed through the cargo port yesterday, but Cain was confident that there had been no more to find among his luggage than there had been on his person. 

Riff frowned down at his handcomm. "We'll have to go directly to the Station Chief's office if we're to be on time, my lord." 

Cain wrinkled his nose and weighed the prospect of being late against that of meeting the Station Chief while still in the clothes he'd been wearing for the nearly 20-hour flight. He was here to take the post of Governor of Victory Station, however temporarily, which technically made him the Station Chief's boss; he wasn't all that interested in making a _good_ impression, but the question remained as to which sort of bad impression was preferable. As the elevator doors opened on the station hub, Cain came to his decision. "We'll just have to be late. I want to freshen up." 

Late and impeccably dressed would say 'vain and lazy young nobleman' and he'd rather be underestimated at this juncture.

The Governor's residence was in the outer ring of the station, where the gravity was effectively Earth-normal. The change from the center shaft's lower gravity left Cain feeling heavy and unwieldy, but he would no doubt get used to the transitions as he spent more time moving around the station. Modest compared to any of the Hargreaves' residences on Earth, the building was at least fitted with all the conveniences technology could offer. 

And, as he discovered upon entering his own quarters, the position against the outer hull of the station offered one unexpected bonus: the back wall of the foyer was made entirely of paraplexi--completely transparent, offering a panoramic view of the ice-covered planet far below and the sea of stars beyond it. In the distance, the swirling peacock colours of a nebula were visible to the naked eye. "Ah, I wish Merry could see this." 

"You could stay on as Governor for longer than originally planned, and send for her." Cain watched Riff's reflection in the paraplexi, rather than turning to look at him. It was more tempting than he wanted to admit, but he could not dally here when matters on Earth were so pressing. 

So Cain just shook his head and squared his shoulders, turning away from the spectacular view. "I will shower now." 

Riff undressed him carefully, mindful always of the scarred skin of his back, and Cain let the familiar ritual of it quiet his whirling thoughts for a moment, at least. When he emerged from a shower that was quicker and more businesslike that he'd have preferred, Cain found Riff waiting to re-dress him in a fresh suit. If Riff had changed his own clothes, Cain couldn't tell--one black butler's uniform looked much like another, and Riff had shown no signs of being sweaty or rumpled in the first place, damn the man. 

"I've called for transport to take us directly to Central Security," Riff said.

"Good." Cain swept up his cane and his hat, then stalked out of the room. 

\--

Central Security--which despite its name actually housed not only the bulk of Victory Station's police force but also most of its bureaucracy--dominated the eastern half of the station's central hub. And despite Cain's lateness, there was someone waiting for him at the entrance; if she was irritated at having to stand around, it didn't show through her bureaucrat's mask of disinterested politeness. "Earl Hargreaves, welcome to Victory Station. I'm Melisande, and I've been assigned to help facilitate your stay here."

Cain took Melisande's hand, lifting it to his lips and brushing the back of it with the barest hint of a kiss. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, Melisande." 

Alas, clearly Melisande was a bureaucrat to the bone, because not only did she fail to blush and snatch her hand away, she barely even blinked--she simply waited until Cain released her hand, then continued on as if nothing had happened. "If you'll follow me, my lord, I'll show you the way to the Chief's office."

The elevator ride was too short for Cain to try baiting Melisande any further, but he looked forward to the challenge of getting a rise out of her at least once before he finished his business here. The elevator doors opened onto a stark and rather unwelcoming lobby, with only a handful of chairs and a receptionist's desk to break up the unpainted metallic gray of the walls. It was not the sort of room that encouraged people to wait around in hopes of seeing the Chief without an appointment. 

"Earl Hargreaves to see the Chief," Melisande said to the receptionist, who glanced down at his handcomm--presumably to verify that Cain matched his identification photo--before buzzing him in. 

Riff, however, was stopped at the threshold. "Your manservant must remain here, Earl." 

Cain bristled at the presumption, but the vain, dissolute young noble he was presenting himself as would think nothing of leaving behind a servant--even a high-ranking personal servant. Smiling absently, he waved a hand at Riff. "Of course." And if he felt naked and unarmed as the door closed behind him with Riff on the other side of it, he refused to let it show. 

The Chief's office was nothing like the cold, sterile waiting room. The furniture was by no means ornate, but Cain could see the quality of it at a glance--it was real wood, of all things!--and the walls were painted a light green that brightened the room and balanced the heavy dark furnishings. One wall was dominated by the bank of security monitors, showing camera feeds and vital stats; on the other side of the desk there was a locked case, its doors frosted so that its contents couldn't quite be made out. Cain thought the shapes within looked like bottles. A well-appointed office indeed, more what he would have expected to see in the Governor's office than the Station Chief's. But then maybe she'd taken the opportunity to move in when the post of Governor was so precipitously vacated. 

Station Chief Ferdinand stood as he entered, trying and not quite succeeding at wiping the last traces of a frown off her face. She was tall, taller than Cain, and had gray hair pulled back into a severe bun. "Earl Hargreaves. Thank you for coming in such a... timely manner." She couldn't quite keep from glancing at the monitor displaying the local time. 

"Oh, well, my uncle felt that some off-planet experience would be good for me. In any case, I hope we'll have a smooth time working together," Cain said, blithely ignoring the dig. He extended his hand to Chief Ferdinand. She hesitated a moment, a ghost of something like fear touching her eyes before she took his hand in a firm handshake. 

Had she really thought he'd randomly poison a Station Chief he'd only just met? Whatever version of his reputation had preceded him to this backwater station, it must be spectacularly exaggerated.

Clearing her throat, Ferdinand shook off her moment of discomfort and was all business again. "There will be an induction ceremony tomorrow evening. Really just a formality and a chance to let the staff get a look at you. In the meantime, a quick bit of paperwork and you can be on your way. If you'll have a seat, my lord?"

Cain settled into the richly padded but _absurdly_ uncomfortable chair opposite the Chief's; it had to be deliberate, there was simply no way a chair this well-made was so unpleasant accidentally. A quite impressively subtle way to hurry people out of one's office, really. Fortunately for Cain's behind, the paperwork actually was "quick." The Station Chief signed each form after he did, and then uploaded a series of key codes and encrypted documents to his handcomm. He'd have to have Riff look everything over to make sure no bugs or viruses had been slipped in among the official documents. 

"And with that, you are now acting Governor of Victory Station, my lord. My staff will contact yours with the details of the induction ceremony once they're finalized."

"Yes, of course." Cain rose to leave and shook Chief Ferdinand's hand again--this time without any hesitation on her part. As he reached the door, he turned back. "Oh, and my condolences, for the loss of the late Governor. His passing was so sudden; I'm sure it must have caused a great deal of chaos." 

The Station Chief's expression remained cool and neutral, though she didn't quite meet Cain's eyes. "Thank you for your concern, but we have protocols in place for any manner of emergency. It was unfortunate to have to use them, but you needn't worry."

"No, of course not. I'm sure you have the situation well in hand." 

Back in the reception area, Riff was waiting, and to all appearances quite patiently. Melisande remained completely unflappable, as far as Cain could tell. "Will you be needing any further assistance today, my lord? I can introduce you to your staff, or provide any information you require." 

"Goodness, no, I'm sure it's all in the documents the Chief gave me. And really, I'm quite done in for the day." 

Melisande nodded coolly. "If you change your mind, your manservant has my contact information. Otherwise, I'll speak with you tomorrow regarding the induction ceremony."

\--

Back in his temporary residence, Cain had Riff dismiss the staff from the office half of the building. He was glad that, unlike the Hargreaves estate, Victory Station preferred to leave domestic chores to non-sentient automation rather than employing human or AI servants--once the office staff was gone, he and Riff were alone in the building. As the building had never been designed with live human servants in mind it had no servant's quarters, and Riff was staying in the next suite over from Cain's--well within earshot if necessary. Once Riff swept the personal areas of the building for bugs and gave the all-clear on the data downloaded to his handcomm, Cain was finally able to relax. 

For a short while, at least.

Slouched in a rather comfortable chair in his sitting room, Cain propped his chin on one fist while Riff busied himself removing Cain's shoes. "I'm not sure what to make of the Station Chief. Her office is worth a small fortune, but she seems all business otherwise. I suppose ultimately I can't say for certain that she's an ally, so better to keep treating her as a suspect for the time being."

Before Riff could reply, Cain's handcomm lit up and notified him of an incoming call. Grimacing, Cain briefly considered ignoring it, but that would only delay the inevitable. He reluctantly answered. "Uncle Neil. I hope all is well?"

"What reckless nonsense are you up to now, Cain? What's this about you taking up the Governor post on Victory Station personally? And why am I only hearing of this now?" 

Cain chose to ignore that last question, assuming it was rhetorical--Uncle Neil could easily see from the metadata that Cain had deliberately routed the notification through the most circuitous route possible, so that Uncle Neil wouldn't get it until it was too late to do anything about it. He shrugged, angling the handcomm so that Uncle Neil could see more of the room. "It seemed like it would be interesting. I've never been off-planet before."

Huffing, Neil rubbed the bridge of his nose like he had a headache. "And I'm sure it has nothing to do with the rash of gruesome murders that have plagued the station for the last six months, or the suspicious death of the previous Governor."

"Uncle! If I wanted gruesome murders, I could have stayed in London. This is strictly a... working vacation, let's say."

"Oh? And why didn't you bring Merryweather along with you, then?" Uncle Neil clearly wasn't going to play along. Well, he rarely did.

Cain let his smile fall. "It's the only lead I've had in months."

"A tenuous lead at best." Uncle Neil sighed, and his shoulders slumped a little. "Just... come back safe, Cain."

Riff shifted so that he was in the handcomm's field of view. "I'll make sure of it."

A fraction of the tightness went out of Uncle Neil's eyes, and he sighed. "I supposed I'll have to be satisfied with that. Take care of him, Riff."

"Always."

With nothing left to be said, Cain ended the call.

Standing smoothly, Riff gave Cain a wordless look. Cain waved it off irritably. "I've heard your complaints already, no need to repeat them just because Uncle Neil happens to agree with you. A series of mutilated corpses missing their eyes is something I can't ignore. Maybe it's not the Doctor, all the way out here, but I need to be _certain_."

Riff made a noise that Cain chose not to try to interpret, but didn't press the issue any further. Cain broke the uncomfortable silence. "I need a cup of tea." 

"Of course." 

"Riff," Cain called after him. 

"Yes, Lord Cain?" Riff paused at the threshold, looking back at Cain.

"If you let the auto-chef make it, I'll know." 

Smiling, Riff ducked out the door. "I expect nothing less."

\--

With the brief exception of the induction ceremony, the better part of a week passed without anything of interest happening. The documents pertaining to the murders were all available to Cain in his role as Governor, but they said little that he didn't already know from researching beforehand. 

All the deaths but the Governor's had happened in the lower, more poorly secured levels of the station. More victims could be out there, undiscovered because no one cared enough to report them missing, and little to no information was recorded about the victims they _had_ found. Finding a pattern was infuriatingly difficult.

There was really only one option. Riff was not going to like it, though. 

"We need to go down there ourselves."

Riff got that look on his face that meant he wanted to say "absolutely not," but had no faith that his objections would be heeded in the least. "This isn't London, we know nothing about the lower levels here, nothing of the dangers to watch for."

"Pickpockets, thugs and kidnappers, I would think. I'm sure it's similar enough."

"If I say no, you'll sneak out on your own." Riff didn't even bother phrasing it as a question.

"Obviously."

And so, a few more futile protestations and a change of clothes later, they ventured into the depths of the station. 

Cain had known that the lower levels would be poorly maintained, being officially abandoned and populated only by those with nowhere else to go, but the reality was even worse than his expectations. More than that, the people here were frightened, quiet and skittish; in London, they would been wary, but confident. The handful of murders on record could not be all of it, not for the whole population to be so fearful of strangers.

No was hawking dubious ware or services, no one cozied up to them to have a try at their wallets. They saw flickers of movement and retreating backs as the locals vanished into the shadows at their approach. "How will we get any answers this way? No one will hold still long enough to speak to us!"

"Depends on what yer offerin' in return!"

Riff's hand dropped to the gun at his hip, but he didn't draw it yet. He and Cain turned to look at the urchin who had spoken to them--a piteously skinny boy who reminded Cain of too many boys he'd failed to save. "What would make it worth your while?" Cain asked, swallowing the memories.

The boy thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "Credits, I guess. Some stuff down here still works, if you have the credits for it."

"One hundred credits. Twenty-five up front, the rest if your information is useful." Riff took over the bargaining without asking, but Cain thought it just as well to let him--Riff handled the budget and knew the value of a credit in a more concrete way than Cain did.

"Hundred and fifty, fifty up front!"

"One hundred and twenty-five, thirty-five in advance."

"Done!" 

Riff nodded, plugging a chit into his handcomm and filling it with thirty-five credits. They followed the child closely as he went to the nearest working auto-chef to check the balance on the chit, then waited as he gave in to temptation and immediately bought a grilled cheese sandwich. Much as Cain wanted information on the dead and missing, he couldn't begrudge the boy a few minutes to fill his belly. 

The boy devoured the sandwich."Damn, that's good. Okay! What kinda stuff you wanna know?"

"We need to know more about the people who have been killed. Who they were, what they had in common, where they spent their time." Cain took back the reins at this stage, whittling his many questions down to the essential few that this boy had any chance of knowing the answers to. 

The boy narrowed his eyes and took a half-step back, watching Cain and Riff even more warily now. "You Security or something? Since when does Security care what goes on down here?"

Cain bristled. "What about me looks like I might be Security? Honestly." Never mind that he'd let Riff dress him in nondescript worker's clothes, precisely so that he _didn't_ look like a nobleman wandering about in the slums with only a single guard.

"Guess you are kinda scrawny for Security." The boy looked at Riff, then, "But he sure could be."

"Scrawny!" Cain stilled as Riff squeezed his shoulder. Huffing indignantly, he let the matter drop. 

The boy eyed them both warily for a moment longer, then shrugged. "I guess Security credits spend just the same, even if you are. Anyway, look, we're not big on sharing names and back stories down here, y'know? And most people move around a lot. But what they had in common is easy! Everyone who's been killed or gone poof down here the last few months were major addicts." The boy's disgust was thick in his voice at that last word, and he spit on the ground as if to get it out of his mouth. "Stupid. Needing something that bad puts a big target on your back."

Cain narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, tapping his chin with one finger. "Addicted to any drug in particular?"

The boy gave a disinterested shrug and answered, "Dunno about what kind of stuff. Addicts are addicts and I steer clear. "

"And where did they buy it?"

"Dunno exactly, but I see a guy down here sometimes that definitely doesn't belong. Sticks out even more than you guys, 'cause he's not even trying to blend. Find the big guy wandering around down here with nice clothes and a bunch of bully-boys, an' that's probably the guy."

Cain thought about pressing for more, but the pinched, half-hopeful, half-fearful look on the boy's face said that he'd told all he knew and wasn't sure it was enough to get the rest of the promised credits. Or maybe he just didn't trust them to pay him, regardless. "Pay the boy, Riff."

As soon as the rest of the credits were in his hand, the boy made himself scarce, vanishing into an alley with remarkable speed. 

Riff turned to Cain, a mulish sort of look on his face. "We're not hanging around here _hoping_ to run into someone who has, and I quote, 'a bunch of bully-boys' with him."

Cain considered it, just for an instant, but aside from actually being a really terrible idea, Riff was clearly about to just pick him up and carry him home, willing or not. "We will need to come back at some point. The answers are down here."

"Maybe with a Security squad." Riff narrowed his eyes and shook his head even as Cain opened his mouth to protest, "I'm sure they have undercover units of some kind."

A flash of movement caught Cain's attention before he could say anything further, but there was nothing there when he looked. "Was someone listening?"

Riff scanned the area, then shook his head. "Too many overlapping heat signatures, I can't be sure. Damn!"

"It may be nothing. Let's head back." Cain was more than a little unsettled, but there was nothing to do at this point but head back and stay alert. 

\-- 

After making it back to the Governor's residence without incident, Cain let a little of his tension drain away. Maybe he'd imagined it. 

A good soak would relax him the rest of the way, but apparently whichever Governor built this place wasn't interested in baths, so he would have to make do with a long shower. The fuzzy, warm robes were a delight, though, and he was quite contentedly wrapped in one and toweling his hair dry when a wisp of a breeze where there should be none alerted him. 

Diving out of the way, Cain felt something tear a shallow rent in the back of his robe, though it didn't touch the skin beneath. His desperate roll brought him within arm's reach of his cane, and he managed to get it up in time to block the next strike from his assailant. The wood splintered under the force of the blow, exposing the sword hidden within. "Riff!"

The masked assailant leaped back just in time to avoid being caught straight on by Riff's powerful left cross, though it connected with his shoulder and spun him half around. The intruder staggered back, then, one arm hanging useless and limp; he shot Riff a shocked, angry glare. "Impossible! That strength!"

"You're late."

"My apologies, Lord Cain." Riff launched himself at the intruder a second time, but the masked man sprang out of the way, picking up his dropped knife with his uninjured arm. 

With the element of surprise no longer on Riff's side, the intruder's remarkable agility enabled him to stay out of the way of Riff's powerful strikes. And then one of the masked man's counterattacks connected, the heavy-bladed knife sinking into Riff's left arm. 

Rather than blood, electric blue sparks scattered from the wound. The sight brought the intruder to a dead stop for a split second, just long enough for Riff to pull the knife from his arm and turn it on its owner. The tip slid up between the intruder's ribs, and blood pulsed from the wound. 

"Military-grade cybernetics. The audacity of you nobles..." the masked man wheezed bitterly as he fell to his knees. He collapsed onto his side, and said nothing more. 

"Riff!" Cain ran to Riff's side, but Riff shook his head and moved to check the intruder's pulse. Finding none, he pulled the mask off. 

Cain stared at the face under the mask and sighed. "What are the odds he was acting alone?"

"None of the security alarms went off. Would he have the authority to override them?"

"No. No, of course not." Cain rubbed his face, already exhausted and now with so much more to do before the night was over. But all the other problems would have to wait. "Riff, your arm..."

Riff's mechanical arm had stopped sparking, but that meant little. Cain cursed himself for not making a priority of finding a discreet mechanic here on the station, but they hadn't planned to be here long enough for Riff to need his regular maintenance. It had never occurred to him that Riff would allow himself to be hurt. "I never gave you permission to get injured!" There was a note of hysteria in Cain's voice that grated on his own ears. 

"My apologies, Lord Cain. It seems I'm having an off night." Riff's lips quirked into a bitter half-smile. 

Cain raked his hair back out of his eyes, struggling to think past the panic. Riff was hurt, his cybernetics exposed. They couldn't allow Security into the building until Riff's arm was repaired. They had no mechanic they could trust. What did they have? "Spare parts. You brought spare parts?"

"Yes. But there's not a lot I can do by way of self-repair one-handed."

"Then I'll do it." Cain endeavoured to sound more confident than he felt, but he suspected it came out more desperate than determined. 

"I..." Riff swallowed, then shook his head. "I don't see what other choice we have."

In Riff's suite, Cain pried the false bottom out of one of Riff's trunks. In the hidden compartment, well-shielded from electronic scans, was the one kind of contraband it had never occurred to Port Security to look for--illegally modified cybernetic parts. Picking out the tools and pieces Riff thought they'd need, Cain forced that shaky panic down into the pit of his belly. His hands had to be rock steady; there was no other option. 

Cutting away the section of synthetic skin that covered Riff's left forearm, Cain fully exposed the thin metal plate beneath. It was damaged beyond his ability to repair, but the important parts were further in. Unscrewing the damaged plate, Cain came at last to the inner workings of Riff's arm. Riff made a relieved noise, and Cain looked at him questioningly. "It looks like just a power cable was cut. That's an easy fix. I've shut down power to the area, so you should be fine to pull the cable and replace it."

There was something almost obscenely intimate in this, as Cain slipped his fingers into the interior of Riff's arm. Save for a little oil, Riff's mechanical parts were dry, warm and smooth to the touch in a way totally unlike biological parts. Feeling blindly where the cable slipped under a section of artificial muscle, Cain found one end of the power cable and twisted it free. Riff made a noise Cain couldn't quite decipher, but he didn't say to stop so Cain went searching for the other end of the mangled cable. Disconnecting that, too, he pulled the whole mess free and set it carefully on the floor. It might no longer function, but it had still been a piece of Riff's body and Cain couldn't bring himself to just toss it aside.

When Cain went to connect the replacement cable, Riff made that _noise_ again and Cain snapped, irritably, "You went and got yourself hurt when we have no access to a mechanic, so you'll just have to put up with my clumsy fumblings!"

Riff's answer was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Lord Cain, your fingers are anything but clumsy."

Feeling his face flush with heat for no reason he could properly articulate, Cain turned his attention back to fitting the new cable properly. "I think that's done it." Cain withdrew his hand, hoping that he'd got it right.

"Restoring power..." Servos whined quietly and artificial muscles twitched and flexed as power flowed back into them, and Cain couldn't quite tear his gaze away. "Everything seems to be working. Ah." Riff cleared his throat, his gaze sliding away from Cain's. "The rest should be easy enough for me to do."

"Yes, that... that seems best." Cain stood, and forced his thoughts back to the _other_ pressing problems they had tonight. There was the body in his room, which he didn't presently have the connections or the resources to make disappear. If he called Security immediately, he could be tied up with them all night, and probably lose his chance at getting to the intruder's boss. So, the body and Security would have to wait, however suspicious that would look; the blood pool had to be cooling by now, in any case, so it was likely too late to make it look like a straightforward matter of self-defense.

Which left the intruder's boss. Cain needed to get to them before they knew for certain that the assassination attempt had failed.

Riff finished the rest of his repairs and returned the tools and remaining parts to their hiding place. There was a visible divot in his forearm where the synthetic skin covered the damaged metal plate, but his sleeve would conceal that. That done, he helped Cain change from the comfortable robe into more suitable attire. 

"Riff," Cain said. "It's time to finish this."

\--

Cain had his feet up on the Station Chief's desk and a glass of her scotch in his hand when she walked into her office. That shock was the first expression to cross her face, rather than outrage, was only one final confirmation of what Cain already knew. "It's a very fine collection you have there." He gestured to her now-opened liquor cabinet with his glass, the ice clinking softly with the movement. "But not, I think, worth all the lives sacrificed for it."

Chief Ferdinand reached for her sidearm, but Riff stepped out of the shadows and plucked it from her belt before she could complete the motion. 

"Really, now, I thought we could be civilized about this." Cain took a sip of the scotch.

A spark of hope and avarice lit the Chief's eyes. "I don't know what you think you know, but I assure you there is nothing--"

"Oh?" Cain held up a memory card, smiling. "Did you think your liquor collection was the only thing I looked into?"

"That could be blank, for all I know," The Chief scoffed, though a faint sheen of sweat was visible on her forehead.

"If it was blank, then I probably wouldn't know that the drug trade began with the previous Station Chief, under the direction of the late Governor, and that you were brought into the scheme soon after you were stationed here. The murders, on the other hand, only started recently. What changed?" Cain tapped the memory card against his lips. "I do wonder. Care to enlighten me?"

The Chief went white, but stood at perfect parade rest, her gaze resting somewhere above Cain's head. "I have nothing to say."

"Well, I do have a guess. Did someone recognize your receptionist while he was selling your drugs? Someone who hadn't started out living on the lower levels, maybe even had worked in this very building before falling into destitution? Couldn't let word get out to the wrong people, so your receptionist killed him, as he tried to kill me. The mutilation, though, I think that he did because he liked it."

Chief Ferdinand flinched, at that, but maintained her silence. "And you, you were in _much_ too deep to let a body or two come between you and your greed. That your henchman enjoyed the killing a little too much only meant you didn't need to dirty your own hands. But in the end, the Governor... that was you, wasn't it? His death was clean, precise." 

The Station Chief's jaw tightened as she clenched her teeth, and her shoulders shook subtly with tension, but still she said nothing. "Did he try to extort you out of your cut when he found out about the killing? Or did he actually have a tiny shred of a conscience and draw the line at giving a budding serial murderer free rein on his station?"

"A _conscience_?" The Station Chief laughed, harshly. "Oh, no. You were closer with the first one. Not only did he want my cut, he wanted to fire me. Me! A lifetime I've given to the service, and he would have ruined it all with one signature."

Cain put the half-full glass of scotch down on the desk, the ice nearly melted now. "Well, I'll leave you to decide what kind of arrangement you think we can come to. In the meantime, I'll hang on to this." He tucked the memory card into a pocket.

As the heavy door closed behind them, Riff laid the Station Chief's gun on the reception area's desk; there was no one left to claim it, but Cain saw no justice in stealing from the dead. 

\--

Station Security was waiting for them when they arrived back at the Governor's residence, and in charge of the scene was a familiar face. Cain wondered briefly if she had been watching him because she expected him to _commit_ a crime, or be the victim of one?

"Melisande. Actually, Inspector Melisande, I take it?" Cain flashed her a smile, but made no attempt to kiss her hand, this time. 

The Inspector entered something into her handcomm and frowned up at Cain. "Governor Hargreaves. Are you aware that there is a dead body in your suite?"

Cain very briefly entertained the idea of pretending surprise and innocence, but he rather suspected it was more of a leading question than a genuine one. "Of course. He attempted to kill me, and was unfortunately killed in the struggle."

"Yet you fled the scene instead of calling Security." That one she didn't even pretend was a question at all.

"Given the identity of our assailant, surely some caution is forgivable, Inspector?"

Inspector Melisande's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but she said only, "There are indeed just enough... irregularities in the situation that I can't simply haul you into the station for questioning. I can, however, suggest that you and your manservant come in for interviews first thing in the morning. Entirely voluntary, of course, Governor." Just the tiniest hint of a smile twitched at her lips, then, though it was by no means a friendly one. "Of course, I won't feel right releasing the crime scene until after those interviews. You understand."

"Perfectly." Cain's own smile was starting to feel a little strained around the edges. Their quarters would be swarming with Security officers and he would not have access to his suite--or his belongings--until he acquiesced. He admired the tactic, while simultaneously being extremely irritated that it was being used on _him_. 

"Then I trust I will see you in the morning, Lord Hargreaves. Mr. Raffit."

Inside the building, some areas were guarded and taped off--Cain's suite, yes, but also a window Cain assumed was the intruder's point of entry, and the small room dedicated to the residence's security alarms and exterior cameras. As long as they stayed away from those rooms, the Security officers seemed willing to politely ignore Cain and Riff. 

"Well. My bed is no longer available. Perhaps I'll just sleep in your room, Riff."

"Oh, you'll sleep in my room, will you?" Riff's voice held laughter, and just a hint of something else. "Then I'll have you put those clever hands to work again, shall I?" 

Cain choked and missed a step, in his distraction. Riff caught him before he could lose his balance entirely, and leaned in close enough to whisper into Cain's ear, "There are still repairs to be made to my arm's outer chassis." Then he set Cain back on his feet and pulled away, a blandly innocent look on his face. 

Riff's room, like Cain's, had a ridiculously outsized bed, large enough to sleep five or six people comfortably. Riff and Cain spent that night on opposite sides of it, and they were far enough apart that neither could have reached out to touch the other even had they tried. Still, Cain lay awake for a long time, brooding over not only Riff's teasing comment, but his own conflicted response to it. 

\--

Inspector Melisande had apparently decided that, given the entire night to get their stories straight if they so desired, there was no point in separating Cain and Riff for their interviews.

"Lord Hargreaves, thank you for coming in. We've reviewed the security footage for your residence last night, and somehow Mr. Smith does not appear on it at any point. Our techs say the tampering was done from Central Security, rather than from your end. Adding those facts to the point of entry through a side window and Mr. Smith's... unusual attire... it has been officially decided that he was indeed an intruder and killed in self-defense." She coughed and paused, frowning down at her handcomm; whoever had made that decision, it hadn't been her.

Cain wanted to make a comment about the receptionist being a "Mr. Smith," apparently, but the Inspector clearly had more to say. He had no difficulty guessing what.

" _However_. Early this morning Station Chief Ferdinand was discovered dead in her office. She sustained no wounds and the toxicology report is, and I quote, 'undetermined.' There are signs that she inhaled some sort of irritant, but nothing identifiable. You and Mr. Raffit are on camera entering her office last night, sometime after the death of Mr. Smith in your home. Your fingerprints and your saliva were both found on an empty glass at the scene. Do you have anything to say about that?" Inspector Melisande was displaying more emotion now than Cain had seen from her at any point previously--her eyes were lit with frustration, and her expression spoke of internal conflict. 

Cain spread his hands and affected a look of unconcern. "We spoke with the Station Chief last night, but she was quite alive when we left her office. And whatever you may have heard about me, Biosecurity screened my belongings quite thoroughly when I arrived. I brought no poisons with me. And if I _had_ poisoned a drink, I certainly wouldn't have had it anywhere near my mouth."

Inspector Melisande made a soft, bitterly-amused sound. "I'm sure all that is technically true. I do have a theory, if you're interested, Lord Hargreaves."

"Oh, very interested, Inspector. Of course, it would all be hypothetical, I imagine."

"Of course. There are a great many substances that are harmless on their own, or in a particular state, but which become deadly when mixed together, or changed from liquid to gas, for instance." The Inspector leaned forward, elbows resting on the table between them as she continued, "Hypothetically, you could have brought such substances onto the station without raising any alarms, and only combined them later."

A feeling a little like excitement started to build in Cain's heart. He'd spent so long matching his wits against monsters, he'd never imagined that it could be _fun_ to have an opponent like this Inspector. "Hypothetically, that's very true. But you have not yet explained my saliva on the glass. Had I tasted a poisoned drink, I would be suffering ill effects." 

"It is possible you used a poison you have developed an immunity to, but given the restrictions of getting it through Biosecurity I think that the less likely option. I believe it more likely that when you used the Station Chief's icemaker, you embedded the second substance in the heart of the ice. It wouldn't have been released until the ice melted completely. The substances then mixed, became a gas, and the victim never needed to drink from the glass at all." Cain thought he saw a flicker of matching excitement in the Inspector's eyes, but then she sat back, her expression settling back into cool indifference. "Hypothetically, that is."

"You have an impressive knack for the diabolical, Inspector." 

"It's useful, in my line of work." 

"I imagine it would be. But I wonder, Inspector, how long can you continue to look into the abyss without falling in?" 

Inspector Melisande looked him in the eyes unflinchingly. "As long as I need to, Lord Hargreaves."

Cain smiled, genuinely pleased to have duelled, however briefly, with such a refreshingly honest opponent. "I do actually believe that, Inspector. I assume my manservant and I are free to go?"

The Inspector's reluctance was obvious, but she clearly knew as well as Cain did that there was not nearly enough direct evidence to hold a nobleman. "Of course. Thank you for your cooperation." She hesitated, expression going thoughtful, before adding, "I can't claim to be comfortable with how it was done, but my station is rid of a corrupting influence as well as a serial murderer. Will you be staying on as Governor now, Lord Hargreaves, now that you have accomplished what you came here to do?"

Cain widened his eyes and smiled, all innocence. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean by that, but it's true that last night's... incident... has made me rather leery of remaining on Victory Station. I imagine that we will not meet again."

\--

It had taken close to a week for Cain to fully resign his position as Governor of Victory Station and hand the reins over to his replacement--an older Baronet from some distantly-related cadet line of the Hargreaves family. The last thing Cain did, just before boarding the shuttle, was send the new Governor a recommendation for the new Station Chief--one Inspector Melisande Thibault.

Settling into his seat, Cain watched out the porthole as the station and the planet beyond it shrank into the distance as the shuttle pulled away and began the long flight back to Earth. In the end, his time on Victory Station both had and had not been a waste of time; the crimes had no link to Jezebel Disraeli or Delilah at all, but he was leaving feeling almost... refreshed. His father's manipulations had never touched this distant station, and while it had problems of its own, it also had people like Melisande Thibault, capable and willing to push back against them. It was good to remember that such places existed.

The shuttle shook briefly as it changed over from its gravity-escape booster to long-range inertial propulsion, and Riff reached over as if to steady Cain in his seat. At the touch of Riff's hand, Cain couldn't help but remember the night of the attack, and the trust Riff had shown in letting Cain reach into the inner workings of his body. Cain wondered if that association would fade with time, or if he would be always more aware of Riff's touch, always wondering what it would feel like to touch the place where synthetic skin met natural skin, if they would feel different, wondering... many things.

It seemed to Cain that Riff's protective grip lingered just a breath longer than it needed to, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Riff rub his left hand with his right as he withdrew it. He wondered if Riff, too, was unable to forget. Closing his eyes and resting his head against the back of his seat, Cain put the thought aside for now. 

Someday, he might ask Riff. Someday, when he was sure he was prepared for whatever answer Riff gave. 

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> The horror feel of the manga got left behind in this story but, after all, it *was* a vacation, even if Cain thought he was lying when he called it one. Sure, Cain and Riff vacations still involve murder and poison, because of course they do, but I enjoyed being able to let them go home feeling ever so slightly upbeat, for a change.


End file.
